A Moment to Regret
by MeantToBe4Evermore
Summary: Harley/Joker, Harley/Deadshot. Spoilers for Suicide Squad (2016) It only takes a second to make a decision you'll regret for the rest of your life. Harley thinks that the Joker is dead, so she spends a drunken night with Floyd. The Joker is not amused. Two-Shot. Please Review!
1. Part One

**SPOLIERS FOR SUICIDE SQUAD (2016) ABOUND**

 **Warning(s):** Mentions of Domestic Violence, Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Cheating, etc.

* * *

It was all over.

She fell to her knees on the roof, her eyes wide with disbelief as her Mistah J was swallowed in a mass of flames. The nano-bomb in her neck may have been disabled, but the 'Voice of God' had found a way to end her life more effectively than any explosion could...

Her Mistah J was her _world_. He was the one who defined her, who showed her the deranged lunatic that she was meant to be. Without him...

How was she supposed to face the rest of the Squad? Deadshot had thrown himself under the bus for her, had risked his _own_ life so that she would have a chance to escape. And now she was right back where she started: alone.

She expected tears, but none fell. Instead, a bone-chilling cold settled over her, her mind going blissfully blank as she stared out at the horizon. The Midway City skyline had nothing on the velvety-black Gotham sky, the stars just barely visible behind a haze of smog. She missed the comforting scent of exhaust fumes and gasoline that filled the Gotham air, as opposed to the crisp, fresh scent of a city that had never seen blue-collar industry.

She couldn't remember how she'd made it back down to the deserted street below, or how she came to sit on the roof of a busted-up car that had been on the wrong end of a gun fight. In the end, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the smoldering remains of the chopper that had carried her Puddin' to his bitter end.

When the Squad came over, she plastered on a fake smile and gave them a little wave, "Hey guys! I'm back."

Her chest tightened when blue eyes met brown, the expression on Floyd's face conveying everything he'd never dare to say aloud. Strong arms wrapped around her, lowering her down to the ground, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine it was her Mistah J's arms around her...

She wished that he'd never pushed her out of the back of that chopper. Even if it meant that she would have died, at least they'd be together.

* * *

When she thought of how her Puddin' had always wanted to go out with a _bang_ , she decided that Floyd had had the right idea - a stiff drink sounded wonderful right then.

The Joker had loved to tease her about her poor tolerance for liquor - she was such a lightweight it was practically laughable, especially compared to him. That man could drink his weight in liquor and still appear stone-cold sober, where Harley would be knocked on her ass by a shot of whiskey.

She listened as El Diablo recounted the story of how he killed his family in a fit of rage, but found it near impossible to force herself to sympathize. As her Mistah J would say, he needed to embrace his own special brand of crazy. Denying who, or rather, _what_ he was would only delay the inevitable. He was like a ticking time bomb - it was only a matter of time before he lost control again and did some more serious damage.

"Yes." Deadshot said, seemingly answering a question that hadn't been voiced. Harley furrowed her brow, watching as he finished off his drink in one long swallow.

"All that liquor goin' ta your brain, hot shot?" Harley quipped, "Just spittin' out random words now?"

Deadshot rolled his eyes. "Nah. You asked me earlier if I'd ever been in love. I got a little defensive and didn't give you a straight answer." Harley shrugged, brushing off his comment easily. She hadn't been expecting him to answer at all, if she were to be totally honest. "So the answer's yes - I was in love, once."

Harley smacked her lips together, before flashing him a bright smile. "Oh? Care ta share?"

"Not much to tell. She was the kinda woman that always had the wrong taste in men, myself included. She didn't approve of my day job, and I didn't approve of her sleeping with the low-level drug dealer that lived down the hall." He sighed, "She got custody of our daughter after the divorce, and the rest... well, it's history."

"Ya have a daughter?" Harley asked, her voice suddenly much softer. It had lost the grating edge it had possessed earlier, her words softening from razor sharp to silk.

Deadshot nodded, "The light of my life. She's more than I could have ever hoped for... Much more than I deserve, at any rate."

In the beginning, she could still remember the delusions of granduer, where she'd craved normality to balance out the crazy. She'd wanted a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes to dress up in cute little outfits and have tea parties with - to pamper her in the way her mother never had with her. Or perhaps she'd have a Joker Jr. and she could buy him little suits to match his Daddy and give him toys, like gag guns or confetti grenades, to teach him the importance of a good punchline.

But normal was just a setting on the dryer. It wasn't meant for people like them.

Tears blurred her vision as she poured herself another glass and raised it in a silent toast to her late Puddin', before downing it all in one swallow. She was unsteady on her feet and even as she gripped the counter, she found that the room was spinning in lazy circles around her. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.

"You okay there, girlie?" Suddenly, Deadshot was behind her, steadying her.

She swallowed hard, nodding. In her head, she had an entire conversation mapped out, assuring him that she was fine, throwing in a snide remark or two about keeping his hands off the merchandise unless he meant business... but all that came out was, "I just want ta forget."

Deadshot was able to read between the lines and knew all-too-well what she was saying, "I don't think that's such a great idea, hotness. You're drunk -," Harley opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, "And in no position to actually consent to doing anything."

She cocked a blonde eyebrow at him, "I'm a lot more aware than ya might think..."

Her lips were soft and smooth and suddenly pressed against his just so... Tiny hands gripped the front of his uniform with near inhuman strength, their chests pressed so tightly together he could feel each breath she took.

She drew back slightly, "And I know what I want." She took his hand and led him away from the bar, the other members of the Squad turning a blind eye to their actions.

* * *

But he wasn't the only that she really wanted. Even if it had only been a ruse to get the Enchantress to let down her guard, her first instinct had been to find a way to be reunited with her Puddin'.

When it came down to it, a fling could never replace true love.

Even if he was dead, there was still an undeniable feeling of betrayal that had settled low in her belly. She'd let another man have her, and since coming to be with Mistah J any man that had even come close had gotten his brains splattered across the wall. But what unsettled her the most was that things were _fine_ between them - having sex hadn't changed the dynamic of their relationship at all, and she didn't understand it.

With Mistah J, sex was like a reaffirmation of love. He'd beat her six ways to Sunday, and then tenderly make love to her, kissing every bruise and nuzzling every cut. It was his way of saying that he didn't really mean the things he did, that it was merely his way of showing affection.

But with Floyd, it had been... different. No strings attached, no relationship to potentially ruin... they were bad guys that were looking for an outlet for all of their pent-up stress, and happened to find mutual relief in each other. At the end of the day, they were teammates with a shared goal of walking away from their mission alive.

She was thrown back into her cell, now with the addition of an expresso machine, and he was allowed to visit with his daughter. He'd been so excited when he'd found out that the request had been approved, it had been difficult not to be happy for him. But her _real_ desire - to be back with her Mistah J - couldn't be fulfilled by earthly means. It would take a miracle to bring him back. So why did the professional hitman get his happily ever after, and all she got was a coffee machine?

She thought about rewiring it into a bomb, and setting it off when that creep-o guard came back with her dinner one night. If she went down, she wasn't going alone.

The sudden blast caught her off guard, and she let out a tiny squeal as she hid behind her novel, using it to defend against the debris flying through the air.

Heavily armed men began pouring into her cell, gunfire erupting in the enclosed space as the few guards unfortunate enough to be standing watch went down in a rain of bullets. Amidst all the confusion, a saw came down on the bars, breaking into her enclosure with ease.

When one of the men stepped into her cell, the name on his breast reading 'Joker', she hardly dared to hope. That was, of course, until he lifted his face plate and grinned at her, "Puddin'!"

"Come to Daddy, Harley girl!" She didn't even hesitate to throw herself into his arms, the tears finally falling when he pulled her into a passionate kiss. How could he have survived such a horrific crash? Was he hurt at all? She made a mental note to give him a proper once-over once they returned home.

Once he released her, she beamed at him happily, " _Oh_ , Mistah J!"

He grins at her, "C'mon baby girl... let's go home." His laugh is the most beautiful sound she's ever heard, and she can't help but join him.

* * *

She knows that she has the opportunity to get away scott free, that the bond she formed with Deadshot while on the Squad means that he'd never betray her. But still... she felt the need to pour gasoline on the fire...

"I owe him, Puddin'." Harley said, her red lips pulled into a lazy smile. "He's the best shot alive. If he'd really wanted to kill me, I'd be six feet under right now."

The Joker scowled, "Ya don't owe him _shit_ , dollface. In fact, I'm gonna have that bastard's head on a silver platter for even thinking about taking a shot at my little girl." It would seem as if his little girl had forgotten the cardinal rule of villaindom: it was a dog-eat-dog world, where it was every man for himself.

Harley rolled her eyes, "He was just followin' orders, Mistah J. If he didn't take that shot, the head bitch woulda made him into a Jackson Pollock painting and we both know it." And then she frowned, "If there's anyone worth worryin' about, it's her."

"And who the hell do ya think ya are, to tell _me_ what is and isn't worth worrying about?" The Joker snapped, "Ya weren't throwing yourself all over her like a fucking harlot, were you? Nah." He began approaching her slowly, a menacing glint in his eyes. "Nah, that's just every other guy in Gotham."

Blue eyes widened in shock, "Mistah J... I'd _never_ -," She choked back a sob, "It was only one time, I swear -,"

She didn't even realize what was happening until she landed on the ground with a soft _thud_ , her cheek stinging with the force of his slap. "Ya don't owe him shit."

After a moment, Harley grinned. Her lipstick had smeared on her teeth, or perhaps that was blood. "Are ya jealous, Mistah J?"

* * *

 **A/N:** So this is gonna be a two-shot. This was originally gonna be much shorter, but I ended up combining two story ideas into one. Next chapter, the Joker finds out about Harley and Floyd and Harley finds out the consequences of betraying the Joker's trust.

Was it just me, or did anyone else feel like the Joker was _way_ more obsessed with Harley than she was with him? Like she was upset about him dying for about thirty seconds, and then it randomly came back up again to save the day... Meanwhile every scene he is in, he is either trying to save her, protect her, or defend her honor.


	2. Part Two

Something flashed in the Joker's metallic blue eyes, "Jealous? Ha!" Gathering a fistfull of knotted blonde hair, he yanked her head back until her neck was bent so horribly she could barely breathe. "Why would the King of Crime be _jealous_ that some second-rate criminal fucked his two-bit whore?"

Harley, momentarily taken aback, soon let her anger overwhelm her. "Well, if I'm such a fucking _whore_ , ya shoulda left me in that fucking cell to _rot_!"

"Since when do ya think your callin' the shots around here, blondie?" He tossed her forward, enjoying the way she sprawled on her hands and knees before him. She looked like she was bowing. "I busted ya out of that cell because... because... _fuck_!"

"I thought ya were _dead_ , Puddin'. For _months_ , I fantasized about what woulda happened if ya hadn't pushed me out the back of that helicopter. Floyd... he was there for me when ya weren't... he actually cared about how I felt -," the sound of a gun firing made her jump, effectively silencing her.

The Joker, still holding the smoking pistol, was practically _shaking_. "Don't ya fuckin' say his name again, ya here me? _Never. Again_."

Against her better judgement, Harley began to giggle. "Ya _are_ jealous, Mistah J -,"

The gun fired again, distoring the smiley-face of bullet holes just above their bed. "I am _not_ jealous!"

Even if he couldn't bring himself to say it, Harley knew that he'd rescued her from Belle Reve because he loved her. Most likely, he'd been plotting her rescue since the moment he climbed out of the smoldering ruins of the helicopter. She knew that he, on some level, blamed himself for her original capture - after all, he was the one that had so brilliantly driven off the side of the road into Gotham Harbor after she'd warned him that she couldn't swim...

So for him, the news of her betrayal had to be absolutely devastating, _especially_ considering that he'd devoted the last six months of his life to a goal that _didn't_ involve Batman (and the fact that she had rated above the Bat for _any_ amount of time was actually pretty astounding). But she'd spent the last six months contemplating the likelihood of divine intervention... or using somewhat less miraculous means of reuniting with her Puddin'.

"I'm gonna kill him." The Joker whispered, his voice eerily dark. "No, no... where would the fun be in that? No... I'll lure him to the funhouse... have a coupla henchmen rough him up a bit... and then get myself a front row seat to the main attraction: you, my dear, putting a bullet between the bastard's eyes."

Harley visibly deflated, "B-But he saved my life, Puddin'. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be together -,"

"Who said I was interested in reclaiming damaged merchandise?" He barked, twirling the gun between his fingers for a few seconds, before leaning forward and dragging the cool metal barrel against her pale white flesh. "And isn't that what you are, now? Daddy's favorite toy is broken beyond repair. What a shame."

"B-But I'm not _broken_ , Puddin'. Your Harley just got an upgrade - she's better and badder than ever before." Harley tried to smile, but it was shaky and didn't reach her eyes.

"Did ya like it?" When the barrel of the gun was level with her pulse point, the Joker met her eyes and grinned maniacally.

Suddenly very much afraid, Harley squeaked out a weak, "Did I like what, Mistah J?"

His grin faltered, "Did ya like bendin' over and spreadin' your legs for him like a fucking harlot? Tell me, did he have ya scream his name? Did he screw ya so hard, ya couldn't walk for three days? I bet ya loved it - loved getting treated like the little slut that you -,"

The resounding _slap_ echoed through the bedroom - Harley hadn't even realized that she'd stood up, crossed the distance between them, and struck him until the sharp pain flared up in her hand. The Joker's eyes were blown wide with surprise, and that surprise soon morphed into anger. How dare she? This woman, who had sworn to never hurt him, had just backhanded him because _she_ had had an affair.

But that look of angry frustration on the Joker's face was matched with one of angry exasperation on Harley's. It was like the slap that she'd dealt him had been the key to opening the floodgate of emotions that she repressed every time the Joker abused her. And she hit him again. This time it was a knee to the stomach, with enough force behind it to send the bigger man crumpling to the ground. And then she hit him again.

She only stopped when the Joker spit out a mouthful of blood, her eyes widening and her hands trembling as she took in what she'd done. She'd just abused her boyfriend. She'd _hurt_ the Joker - in more ways than one. Spitting out another mouthful of blood, the Joker's red-painted lips pulled back into a grin and he began to laugh. Muscular arms wrapped loosely around his torso, afraid to press too tightly and aggravate possibly broken (at least bruised) ribs.

"I'm n-not a slut, M-Mistah J." Only then did she realize that there were tears streaking down her cheeks, the true severity of the situation sinking in.

The Joker was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. It took him several seconds to get his act together, before he whispered, "If ya think ya can just stand there and hit me and I ain't gonna get ya back, girlie, ya have another thing coming."

She swallowed hard, "I think it would be best if we spent some time apart, for now." She backed up slowly, never taking her eyes off the mass laughing hysterically on the ground.

"I'll fucking kill ya, bitch!" And then he broke down into peals of laughter again, not even bothering to stop when the door to the bedroom slammed closed.

* * *

A week later, Harley is sitting in a cafe across from Floyd. She's wearing her hair down for once, with a simple black headband holding it back from her face. An expensive pair of black sunglasses rest on the bridge of her tiny nose, the only disguise that she's bothered to acquire since leaving the Joker. She's been nursing the same mug of herbal tea for the last forty-five minutes, and is no closer to talking than she'd been when Floyd had first shown up.

Finally, after several more minutes of near-uncomfortable silence, she asked, "Do ya regret it... what we did, that night?"

Floyd looked confused for a moment, before realization finally sunk in. "No, not really. I mean, it was what you needed - what we _both_ needed - in that moment. We sought comfort in one another in a moment of desperation and fear. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I betrayed my Mistah J..." she took a sip of tea, desperate to hide the way her hands were shaking at the mention of her lover.

"You told him about what happened?" Floyd looked like he'd been struck, before he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. "It wasn't your fault. Don't let him bully you into thinking otherwise, hotness. You thought he was dead - and had good reason to. It wasn't like you _tried_ to cheat on him."

Harley scowled, "He wanted ta know if I enjoyed it."

"Did you?" Floyd asked, just a note of teasing in his tone.

The dark, and rather unexpected blush that rapidly spread over the blonde's cheeks caught the gunman by surprise... and also answered his question. "That doesn't matter."

Floyd shook his head, "Oh, but I think it does. See, the J-man isn't really upset that you cheated. For a man like the Joker, who could have sex with anyone that he wanted," here, Harley's gaze darkened, her shoulders tensing at the very idea of it, "what bothers him is the idea that there is another man who could satisfy you."

Harley paused - Floyd's explanation did make sense, in a weird sort of way. The Joker had practically _created_ her, had molded her from the nothing she'd once been into the perfection he'd seen lying just beneath the surface. Her Mistah J had always satisfied her - whether it be sexually or otherwise, there was never a need left unattended. The idea that, in his absence, another man had filled that void... it would have to be absolutely devastating.

She took another sip of her tea. She'd known the Joker for _how many years_ , and only now was she just breaking into the shell that enclosed the Clown Prince's heart. And she'd had to betray him to do it. Only now, when she had taken that step back and allowed herself a chance to really _think_ about what had happened a week before, she realized that his violent reaction wasn't his way of saying he was jealous. No, her Mistah J was _heartbroken_.

"He hasn't tried to contact me in a week. He just... just let me walk out the door." Harley sniffed, a stray tear coursing down her cheek. "That ain't like him."

"Hotness," Floyd sighed, sounding very much as if he were forced to explain the obvious to a two-year-old, "Your boyfriend just found out that his girl was sleeping around while he was busy coming up with an elaborate plot to bust her outta jail. That's gonna sting just a little bit."

It was the same old, circular argument that was bound to go nowhere fast. She'd slept with Floyd because she'd had good reason to believe that the Joker was dead, and the Joker, who was apparently very much alive, was furious because she'd slept with Floyd. "So it's a neverending cycle..."

"Just give him some time." But to Harley, that sounded like accepting defeat.

"Ya obviously don't know my Mistah J."

Usually, when she and the Joker would fight, it would only be resolved by her crawling back to him a week or so later. It was incredibly rare for the Joker to extend the olive branch - in fact, the only time she could remember it happening was when he'd come to break her out of Belle Reve. If she just sat back and 'gave him some time', she had a feeling things would never return to normal.

With a soft sigh, she finished the tea and fished a couple of dollars out of her pocket to pay for it. "I should really get goin'...

"Take care of yourself, hotness." Floyd said, rising to his feet as well. "We'll have to get again together soon."

"Yeah," Harley nodded curtly, "soon."

* * *

"Oh, thank God." Rocco's reaction to Harley's return was not necessarily encouraging. The rather fresh-looking black eye and ugly blue sling cradling his left arm were enough to make her reconsider her sudden return.

"Where's the bossman?" Swallowing down her fear, she cut right to the chase. This issue with her Puddin' needed to be resolved sooner rather than later.

The henchman laughed uncomfortably, before wincing when that jarred his injured shoulder. "The bossman's hurt. Real bad. Found himself on the wrong end of a switch, and the crazy bastard _cut_ _a smile_ onto the boss' face. They had ta wire his jaw so he wouldn't pull the stitches."

Harley was positively fuming, "And who the hell dropped the ball and let my Puddin' get ganked?"

"The bossman said he could handle this one on his own." He inclined his head toward a smear of blood on the wall, "We learned pretty quick not ta question his judgement."

"Then what the hell happened ta you?" But Harley was pretty sure she knew already.

"Who d'ya think got the lucky job a holdin' the SOB down while the doc wired his jaw?" Rocco bit back.

Harley sighed. Mistah J knew how she felt about him taking solo missions - they were an unnecessary liability. It was like he was just asking to get hurt. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that her Puddin' could handle himself, that wasn't the problem. It was just that he only took on these solo missions _after_ they'd had a fight and he was, even if he'd never admit it (or even realized it himself), emotionally compromised.

Leaving Rocco to nurse his wounds in solitude, Harley sought out her man. It wasn't particularly difficult to find him. As she'd expected, the Clown Prince was seated in the middle of their bed, body propped up against a handsome array of purple and green satin pillows. He was watching something on his phone, his metallic blue eyes narrowed upon the illuminated screen. If Harley didn't know better, she'd suspect he hadn't noticed her at all.

Clearly, he was waiting for her to make the first move, so she bought herself some time by examining the wounds on his face. She might not have been _that kind_ of doctor, but she could tell that the wounds would leave nasty scars. The long, fingernail-like scratches spanning the length of his cheeks, some deep enough to tease blood to the surface, certainly weren't helping things either.

"I didn't enjoy it." Finally deciding to break the silence, she knew that her words had immediately captured his attention. Slowly, blue eyes drifted from the screen in hand to her face - she took that as a positive sign. "At least, not in the way ya might think, Puddin'."

Long, spider-thin fingers reached out, pulling a handsome pistol out from where it had been concealed beneath the blankets. With a simple flick of the wrist, the barrel was trained on her. She swallowed hard as he slowly, methodically popped the safety - Deadshot might've been the greatest marksman in the world, but her Puddin' wasn't half-bad either. And his final threat, issued just a weak before, was clearly not an empty promise.

His finger rested heavily on the trigger, and he cocked his head to the side as if to warn her to weigh her words carefully.

"I've made decisions that I regret, Mistah J. And I regret that having sex with Deadshot _hurt_ you. But I _don't_ regret seeking out comfort when I needed it." He hadn't shot her yet, which was mildly encouraging. "Ya don't know how many nights I spent wishing I'd died with ya in that plane... how many times I tried ta... ta...

"Ya were... no, ya _are_ my everything, Mistah J. And I had ta watch ya _die_ in front of me. And I'll never forgive that psycho bitch for the hell she put me through, but you... ya coulda given me a sign... something, _anything_ ta let me know ya were alive.

Harley swallowed hard, "But there are some lines that just shouldn't get crossed, ya know? Like our little games at the club are only fun 'cause they stop before those pussies cross that line. None of those sorry bastards were you, and neither was Deadshot. He was just a cheap replacement that could never compare ta the real thing.

Kneeling down at the foot of the bed, she leaned forward till the barrel of the gun kissed her between the eyes. "I'm sorry, Puddin'. I'm just... so sorry."

There was a moment of tense silence, before Harley dared to raise her eyes and meet the Joker's. For the first time since she could remember, his walls were way, _way_ down and his eyes reflected a deep-rooted pain that was both surprising and striking. Her breath caught in her throat, and she opened her mouth to apologize again - she would apologize a million and one times if it meant erasing that aweful look of vulnerability from his face - when he pulled the trigger.

She flinched as the gun _popped_... but there was no pain. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, afraid that they were playing some twisted version of Russion Roulette, when she saw the gag banner sticking out of the barrel - the word BANG! written in bright purple letters. It was a gag gun. Looking up, she saw the Joker attempting to laugh, his metallic blue eyes reflecting a new kind of pain as the action pulled on his jaw.

And just like that, she knew that everything was going to be alright.


End file.
